


We all know how to fake it

by RemainNameless



Series: Starts with "F", Ends with "U" [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, Dissociation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part ten (jfc) sequel to You hollow out my hungry eyes</p><p>With Derek being held at the station, Stiles is left reeling from the past twenty-four hours until Lydia steps in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We all know how to fake it

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooooo check out part one if you're a newbie.  
> For everyone else, this chapter has description of a panic attack, references to an ambiguously-referred to non-consensual event (no detail of any kind, y'all, i have my limits tbh) that the character doesn't and refuses to remember, and i think that's it honestly?  
> also, i hope u liek the idea of Lydia destroying the patriarchy bc it's one of my favorite things.  
> annnnnnnd i kind of interpreted some sketchy parts of canon mythology so just roll with me y'all.
> 
> btw thanks to Nan for helping me figure shit out yo :)

Stiles tries to be sneaky when he comes home, but his dad catches him as he’s heading down the stairs. Stops. _Sighs_.

“How was _Scott_ ’s, huh?” He nods at the shirt Stiles is wearing. “Did he like the Museum of Modern Art? You know, since he hasn’t _left the state in his life_?”

“It was stupid, I know, okay?” Stiles tells him, adjusting the clothes in his arms. “But I got out of there before you could go in and arrest him, so that’s something?”

His dad rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to _arrest_ him if you two are sexually active. He knows you’ve got plenty of people who will make sure his body is never found if he ever hurts you. Scott, for one, would tear him apart, so I trust his intentions. I just don’t think you two are being very smart about all of this.” 

“I _know_ , okay?” Stiles tells him, and it comes out sharp with his disappointment in himself. “It’s just...when I’m with him, it feels like everything’s okay. And it hasn’t felt like that in a long time.”

For a moment, his dad just stares at him. Then his shoulders slump a little, like he’s giving up the fight. 

“Just _be careful_ ,” his dad settles on. 

“Believe me, I am.” 

His dad nods, ducks into the kitchen to grab his jacket from the back of his chair. “I’m gonna head out. Don’t let anyone scratch up the furniture,” he says, smirking a little. Stiles returns it, clapping him on the shoulder as he heads upstairs to catch a few more hours of sleep. 

 

When he wakes up, there’s a couple texts from his dad and Scott. 

 _From: Dad_  

**Derek’s been arrested. I’m doing what I can.**

An hour later, there’s:  **I sent Scott a heads up in case you’re asleep.**

The messages from Scott start right after that:

**What’s up with Derek being arrested?**

**Do they have anything on him?**

**Are you okay?**

**Text me back, dude.**

**We need to figure out what we’re going to do.**

Stiles just _calls_ him. It’s faster that way. Scott picks up just after the second ring starts anyway. 

“ _Where’ve you been? I’ve been texting you for, like, two hours._ ”

“Sleeping, sorry. And yeah, he’s been arrested. They think he murdered Ms. Blake,” Stiles tells him. “We’re just going to wait it out.”

“ _He didn’t, though_.”

“I know, but it doesn’t look good, what with his car and all. But I told him not to say anything stupid when they interrogate him. He should be fine.” 

Stiles almost half believes it, even.

“ _Are_ you _fine, dude? Do you need me to come over there?_ ” 

He thinks about it, and really, as much as he’d like to see his best friend, he’s afraid of Scott seeing _him_. There’s too much going on. Besides, what he _really_ needs is to know what’s going on down at the station. And there’s _no_ way Stiles is going to go down there himself. Not after... _not after_. 

“Can you go down to the station and listen in or something? I dunno, bring my dad lunch? Say I was sick? My dad would kill me if I went to snoop, but if _you_ did it…”

“ _Sure. I can do that. Salad, right?_ ” There’s a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, get one with bacon. Bribery _totally_ works, I swear.”

“ _Okay, cool. I’ll keep you updated, okay? And just let me know if you want me to come over and hang out._ ” 

Stiles smiles to himself. “Yeah, buddy. I will.” 

“ _I’ll even let you tell me three things about Derek’s penis, but no more than that. I have to be able to look him in the eye, okay?_ ” Maybe if Stiles  _knew_ three things about Derek's penis, he'd be fucking pumped about that. But he knows, like, one thing about Derek's penis: that Derek has one. Well, maybe two, because it seems to kind of like spooning Stiles, or at least it did that one time. 

“I fucking love you, you know that?” Stiles says. Means it. “I won’t, though. Don’t worry.” 

“ _Yeah, yeah, you say that now...Anyway, I’m gonna let you go so I can go see what’s what with Derek. I’ll keep you updated._ ”

“Thanks, dude. See ya.”

Stiles falls back against his bed with a thump. Now that he’s awake, he feels kind of uncomfortable in his room. It just feels weird. He doesn’t want to be alone in here. Doesn’t want to be alone, period. 

It’s too much being in here with no one else in the house, so he heads downstairs and flops onto the couch. Flicks the TV on, channel surfs, catches the end of an episode of SVU he’s already seen, finds a Psych re-run instead. Back in eighth grade, he tried to convince Scott that they should be fake psychic detectives. It hadn’t really worked. His dad had made them sit across from him in his office until he could take them home.

Stiles fucking misses the old days, when they could do stupid shit and no one ever got hurt. This bullshit sucks. 

They’re talking about bananas on TV, and Stiles realizes he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, that he’s fucking starving, so he heads into the kitchen to check out what they’ve got.

But he’s reached the point of no return. Where he’s too hungry to be able to wait for the time it would take to actually make food. Possibly even too hungry to wait five minutes for a freezer meal. So he goes for fast and easy, grabs the tub of peanut butter, a knife, and the hidden oreos, and, as a last thought, the milk, and heads back into the living room where he sits on the floor at the coffee table. 

He splits an oreo and he’s _just_ about to spread some pb on the half with less icing when there’s a knock at the door. When he gets up, he doesn’t set down the knife, and he looks to see who it is before answering it. 

And who it is isn’t particularly tall. 

“Uh, hey,” he says when he opens the door.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, stepping aside. She heads inside, doesn’t quite look comfortable. The TV’s still going in the background, so he shuts it off. “What’s up?”

“You know,” she tells him, shrugging, “I was just passing by, thought I’d say hi. I mean, I haven’t seen you in, like, _forever_.” She's got that sort of too-sweet edge to her voice that means she's lying.

“English on Friday,” he says. “It’s been about two days. What do you really want?”

She sighs, rolls her eyes. “Fine. _Whatever_. Scott asked me to talk to you. Well, technically, he asked me to talk to you a week ago, but then you were with Derek, and I figured you’d rather talk to him. But Scott told me about him getting arrested, so here I am. If you want to talk about your feelings or something. If not, well—” she reaches into her bag and pulls out a couple of DVDs “—I have distractions. So it’s up to you.”

“Scott wanted you to talk to me?”

“It was…” She shrugs, going over to sit on the couch, tucking her skirt underneath her as she does. “He felt you were having trouble talking to him about everything that happened during the eclipse. Since I was your _whatever_ person, he figured I should give it a shot. So. I’m here.” 

“Yeah, you’re here,” he says, feeling a little out of sorts. “Well, I’m kind of hungry, so I’m going to eat. Do you want some?” He plops down on the floor next to her, maybe because it means he doesn’t have to look her in the eye, and finishes his first oreo. Holds out the knife to her.

She shakes her head. “ _No_ thank you.” The way she looks at the oreos, it’s like they offended her in a past life. 

He eats, splits, spreads, eats, splits, spreads, and he can feel Lydia growing more and more tense beside him, but he’s not sure what to do. All he knows is that he’s hungry and that’s a problem he can solve right now. But he can _feel_ Lydia’s discomfort building to a peak until—

“I don’t know how to do this, alright? I don’t talk about my feelings. But you’ve been kind of _off_ since the eclipse, and, well. When _I_ was off, a bunch of people, including you, called me crazy and thought I was a murderer and didn’t tell me _anything_ that would help me deal with it when I _needed_ someone, so. If you need someone.” She smoothes her skirt over her lap, looking at her hands. 

“It’s not the whole nemeton thing,” Stiles tells her after a moment. “Or I don’t think it is. There’s just a lot going on right now. I’m dealing with it.” 

“You don’t look like you are. You look like _it_ chewed you up and spit you out.” 

Stiles shrugs. “Once they let Derek go, it’ll be fine.” 

“Don’t put your sanity on one person. Because I can tell you how it ends, and it ends with him in London and a week of you wearing sweatpants. The _same_ sweatpants.” She thinks about it for a moment. “Of course, then I got a hot oil massage and had a bunch of somewhat above-average sex with boys whose names I didn’t care about and I was perfectly fine, so maybe that’s the way to go.” He snorts and she smirks a little, pleased. 

“It’s not really like that with Derek. It’s complicated. We’re…” he trails off, not sure how to say it without telling the truth. “Things are different with him.”

“You’re in pretty deep, aren’t you?” He shrugs, looking away. “It’s your first relationship. I guess it has to be, doesn’t it?” He feels shitty not telling her the truth, letting her think that, but she keeps going before he can say anything. “Look, you’re probably not going to spend the rest of your life with the guy you lost your virginity to. I didn’t, _thank God_.” 

“I bet he cries himself to sleep at night because you’re not together,” he says with a little smile. 

“I hope not. But I also hope he realizes his rich boy metrosexual thing is woefully unoriginal and that _no one_ thinks American accents are sexy.” She shudders and he stares, just _stares_ because—

“ _Seriously? Jackson?_ You lost it to _Jackson_?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not that _he’s_ ever going to know because it would totally go to his head, but yes. It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s just experience. It doesn’t have to define the rest of your life.” He’s still reeling a little bit, but she gives him a stern look. “I swear to God, Stilinski, if you tell _anyone_ , you’ll regret it _so deeply_ …I have a reputation to uphold, and Jackson Whittemore doesn’t get to be part of it.” 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Definitely not.”

“Does he have a weird penis? Because I’ve always thought he has a weird penis because I don’t know anyone other than you or maybe Danny who’s seen it—”

Lydia cover his mouth with a hand. “If you want to know about Jackson’s penis, you can fly to London and ask him to see it. Got it?” He nods, grinning, because if they’re talking about Jackson, they’re not talking about him. Her hand drops.

“But is it, like, _curved weird_ or something—”

“I will leave, Stiles. I will walk out that door, you hear me?”

He means to say something about how she’s a spoilsport, but what comes out is, “I didn’t lose my virginity to Derek.” 

Lydia pats him on the head. “I’m sure you will, sweetheart. You’ve only been dating for, like, a week. He probably just wants to take it slow, considering that the last person he had intercourse with killed at least twelve people.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking back at his oreos. Lydia’s hand is still on his head, and after a second, her fingers kind of comb through his hair, soft, like she’s petting a cat. 

“Wait, you said _didn’t_ ,” she says after a moment.

Stiles shrugs, doesn’t look at her. A tense second later, she holds out her hand. He stares at it, and she gives him a look.

“Make me one of those oreo things. Come on. Let’s go.” 

He grins, finishes up the one he’s making, and places it in her outstretched hand. She takes a bite, wipes the peanut butter from around her mouth. Thinks about it as she chews.

“I should make you my food slave,” she tells him once she’s swallowed, then slides down to sit next to him on the floor, legs pretzeled with her skirt in her lap. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, taking the knife from him. 

“Not really. It’s just causing a lot of problems.” He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, it’s just kind of a mess. And I shouldn’t be talking about it, shit.”

“Is Derek jealous?”

He shakes his head. “It’s more complicated than that. I can’t…I don’t want to get into it.” 

“Okay then,” she says, but a second later, “just to be clear, this isn’t going to be one of those things where you ignore it until some freaky hallucination intimidates you into drugging your friends and bringing him back to life? Because I’m _pretty sure_ the last time we decided not to talk about something that was _causing problems_ , it didn’t really go so well.” 

“I’m not you. It’s different. I’m fine.” 

“You’re _fine_?” she asks. “I’m not _stupid_ , Stiles, and I’m not blind. Alright, maybe it took me a little while to catch on to the fact that half of my friends were werewolves, but _excuse me_ for not jumping to the conclusion of supernatural creatures. So you want to tell me that you’re _fine_? Sure, go ahead, but just because mine is Dior doesn’t mean I don’t recognize armor when I see it.”

Stiles sighs, gives up because it’s pointless to get in the way of Lydia Martin and something she wants. “I fucked Scott’s dad,” he says, voice cracking on the last syllable. 

There’s a long, long moment where Lydia doesn’t say anything and he thinks he’s going to crack or something. Not in a big way, just lots of little ones spreading up from his hands, pieces falling away. 

“Say _something_ ,” he tells her. It’s impossibly dry, brittle. 

“When?” she asks softly, and she’s not looking at him, just staring straight ahead. 

“The first time?” He tries a snort, a laugh, trying to play it off because he knows how it _sounds_ , like something ridiculous and sick. “September,” he says because she’s still quiet. “Of last year.”

She turns now, and her face is very, very blank. “What about the last time?”

He turns to the peanut butter, thinking about scooping some out, but his mouth is so dry he won’t be able to swallow, so he gets up. “I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything? We’ve got milk, juice, water, and some of those little packets for water bottles, I think there were some Kool-Aid ones, let me see. They’re good, you’ll love ‘em. They taste like childhood.” 

He finds himself on the floor, backed into the corner of the cabinets, knees pulled in close, hands trembling in against his chest. His breath whistles through his teeth and his body just won’t go _still_ because his lungs are working like a bellows, yanking air in and releasing it too fast for him to get enough.

There’s hands on his face all of a sudden, they’re warm and Lydia’s right there. Her eyes look huge and far away, and her mouth is moving, she’s probably saying anything but all he hears is this roar in his ears like the ocean, like blood. She’s moving in, holding him still, maybe, and then his face is in her neck. She’s rubbing his back and he feels real, like _she’s_ real. 

That calms him down a little, and he smells her perfume, light and sweet, breathes that in, tries to make his hands go still. His stomach is turning, rolling over on itself, but he holds it back because he’s afraid to puke on her. 

A while later, his head is in Lydia’s lap and she’s stroking his hair and he’s staring at the spot of paint on the floor near the wall from when his mom painted the kitchen. He and his dad keep saying they should scrape it off, but they never get around to it. They hold onto the little things. 

His hip hurts a little because it’s bony, the floor digging in, so he sits up. 

“I’m sorry,” Lydia tells him, “I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m fine.” He scoots to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and scoots back. “I think I’m just going to stay down here for a little while, if that’s okay with you.” 

Lydia watches him, pressing her mouth together in that way that means she’s worried. “It’s okay with me,” she says, sounding a little wet. “It’s fine. Take as long as you need.”

He drinks some water, stretches his legs out in front of him. His body feels like stretched rubber.

Next to him, Lydia untucks her legs from under herself. She rubs her calves, moves her feet, like she’s trying to get her blood flowing. 

However they got here, they’re here. They’re here and Lydia knows. Some of it. What had she asked him? Oh yeah. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “When last time was, I mean. It happened yesterday, but I don’t really…I mean, I know for sure it happened once, but I…There’s stuff missing, you know? I mean, of _course_ you know. You’ve been there.” 

Lydia nods, takes his hand and squeezes, doesn’t let go. 

“Does it ever come back?” 

She half-shrugs, turns it into a shake of her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t try to remember. I didn’t really want to know.”

“Good,” he tells her. “I don’t want to know.” He lets his head fall onto her shoulder and she leans her cheek against it. Smoothes his hair with a light hand. 

“I think it’s time I show you what I’ve been working on,” she tells him, and he sits up to look at her. 

“Why am I suddenly kind of terrified?”

She taps his cheek. “Don’t worry. You can help. It’s going to be _fun_.” 

 

He grabs his phone before they head out, stopping at Sonic to take advantage of happy hour. Waiting for their drinks, Stiles decides to actually _look_ at his phone. There’s every reason for him to be nervous, and that’s the problem. It’s not easy to muster the courage to take a look. 

There’s about a million messages from Scott. 

**Your dad totally knew what was up with the bacon.**

**Derek’s in by him. He’s kind of a butt when he’s bored, just a heads up.**

**Your dad just put on the Mets game. I don’t think Derek knows it’s a test. I’ll let you know how he does lol.**

**Crap your dad’s kicking me out.**

**Hiding in a bathroom stall. Feeling really creepy. You owe me bro time for this.**

**Am I allowed to punch my dad in the face?**

**Sounds like they’re going for round two in interrogations. Apparently my dad uses gay slurs. Wow best dad EVER. What a role model.**

**Remember when we thought we hated Derek? Pretty sure my dad hates him MORE.**

**Shit dude did Derek resist arrest? Because that would be bad for him right? Derek just said something about deadbeat dad’s face.**

**Nvm. He just slipped in the shower. Laughing about that mental image 4ever. Should I feel bad about that?**

**Not sure if the suckage of having to see him outweighs seeing what sounds like a broken nose.**

**Think your dad would let me watch the interrogation? The bathroom smells like pee. And other things.**

**It doesn’t sound like they really think Derek did anything. I think my dad just hates his guts.**

**Dude I think Derek was the one who fucked up my dad’s face.**

**Yeah we need to figure out what happened. My dad’s totally got it in for Derek. I want to know why.**

**Sounds like the asshole’s left the building. Too bad.**

**Oh shoot. I think your dad’s trying to have the boyfriend talk with Derek.**

**This is hilarious. He sounds so uncomfortable.**

**Shit he just heard me laughing.**

**Your dad just invited him out for dinner. You need to be here for this dude.**

**Now he’s quizzing him on sex ed. I think I’ve had a nightmare like this about Chris Argent.**

**I think I finally understand the concept of schadenfreude. This is beautiful.**

**Derek just told me not to tell you about any of this. Too laaaaaate.**

**Oh dang. It just got really serious.**

**Bro I think your boyfriend has a total crush on you. I have hearts in my eyes on your behalf. Is this what he’s like with you? Because I figured there would be more arguing but this totally explains everything.**

**Does he write your poetry? Please tell me he does and you’ve kept it.**

**I just dawwed. Derek told me to shut up.**

**Shit he just told your dad I was still here. Gotta run.**

**Your dad says they’re going to have to let him go tomorrow. Also you’re in charge of dinner tonight.**

“Reading a novel?” Lydia asks, looking down at his phone in his hand. 

“Just updates from Scott. They should be letting Derek go tomorrow.”

She nods slowly, thinking. “So, how does this all work? I mean, how does Derek fit into everything? He knows about…well, he knows everything, right? Does Mr. McCall know that Derek knows?”

“I think so,” Stiles says. “I don’t know how _much_ he knows, but yesterday, well, Derek was there. And he knew it. He knows that Derek and I are close at least. He knows that Derek and I have never actually done anything. We’re not…it’s not real, me and Derek. He’s just sort of covering for me.”

“Seriously?” she asks, eyebrows judging him. “I know you care about him, and I can’t believe he would _let_ you care about him if he didn’t care about you too.” 

Stiles shrugs. “Maybe. But I don’t want me and him to be tainted by everything else. I don’t want it all to be because he _pities_ me or something. He keeps taking care of me and I just— I don’t want him to be doing it because he feels he has to. Because he’s the only one who can. I don’t want him to have to be doing it at _all_ , and he won’t, I mean. I’m done. After last night, I’m done. I am _outtie_.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, digging into her purse as she sees a girl on roller skates with a couple Route 44s coming their way. 

“Yeah, because _that_ went so well last time.” 

“Here, keep the change,” she says, exchanging a five dollar bill for their drinks, one of which she hands to him. “Look, I’ve got half a bottle of Xanax in my bedside table. If you need it. I had a couple…episodes a while back. It helps.”

“I don’t…” he looks at her, and she looks earnest, serious, and he sighs. “I’m not saying no. Or yes. I’ll think about it.” He takes a sip of his dark grey-purple _just put ALL the syrups in it_ slush. “Didn’t you say you have something to show me?”

She eyes him. “I’m going to show you, but I want to make sure it’s understood that you’re to tell _no one_. You’ll be the first to know, and I’m not giving that to you lightly.” 

“Alright,” he says, “I understand. I’ll keep my trap shut. Let’s go do this thing or whatever.” 

 

In her room, she shuts the door behind him. 

“Sit,” she tells him, looking at the bed. He does. She walks over to her desk. Above it is a bulletin board labeled _Inspiration_ with at least a hundred magazine cutouts of runway models, various makeup things, purses, that kind of thing. She gets on her tiptoes, reaches up to the top two pushpins and lifts the whole thing from the wall. Or at least that’s what it looks like at first. The cutouts all come away, secured to something sturdier, and she places it on the floor. 

He’s looking at a map now, parts of it shaded, parts of it not. Things are color-coded with sticky dots. After a second, he realizes it’s Beacon Hills. 

“What’s all this?” he asks because she’s _planning_ something. People don’t have maps like this if they’re not planning something. (Stiles has more than a few maps tucked away behind his bookcase.

“I’m going to kill Peter Hale,” she says, “and I’d like your help.”

He sucks in a breath. 

It doesn’t feel like a threshold.

“Alright. I’m in,” he says. “What do you need me to do?” 

“I mostly need another pair of hands,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been tracking him, the places he goes, what he does. It hasn’t been easy because he has my scent, but I’ve managed with a little help from Danny. Which, by the way, is something we’re going to have to deal with. He’s far too smart to not be asking any questions. But I’m thinking we’ll make our move on the full moon.”

“Won’t he be stronger then?”

Lydia shakes her head. “He’s not right. I’ve been watching him, I’ve scoured the bestiary and found what I could online, but you can’t come back from the dead without a price. The moon doesn’t hold sway over him any longer. He’s more stable, but he’s weaker. I doubt he can even shift.”

“He can. I’ve seen it. He can trigger it with adrenaline.” She purses her lips, but nods. “We can’t underestimate him. That’s all.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been planning under the assumption that he’s as strong as the rest of them,” Lydia says, “but that’s good to know. But actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about how your training is coming along.”

“Training?” 

“You’re studying under Deaton to become the McCall pack emissary, aren’t you?” Stiles shakes his head, confused, and she frowns. “ _That_ ’s going to be a problem. Deaton should’ve approached you by now, he _said_ he was going to...well, we have four days for you to practice your work with mountain ash. _Fantastic_.” 

“Lydia, I can’t do it,” he tells her because she needs to _know_ that. “I did it once, but that was a fluke. I’m not special like the rest of you. I’m just…me.” 

She sighs heavily, giving him a look. “You’re _human_ , Stiles. That’s all you need to be. All you have to be is a human who _believes_. That’s all it takes. If an emissary wasn’t human, they’d be useless. That’s why _I_ couldn’t do it.” 

“What makes you so sure?” He has every right to be suspicious, he does. She knows more than she should, maybe more than _him_ , and he’s been in it from the start. Something about that isn’t right.

“You, Allison, and Scott were out for a long time,” she explains. “Isaac and I talked to Deaton, you know, because he’s the only emissary we’ve met who’s still alive and he always has answers for us right before someone’s going to die. But I got some information out of him. I don’t _trust_ him, and neither should you, but he knows more than we do. He said that every pack needs an emissary. Someone with ties to the community, someone who can represent the pack to another without being seen as a threat. That doesn’t always work out, as you might imagine, but they found out about mountain ash from the druids. Something only humans can handle, a barrier. Or a weapon.”

“Yeah, I know about what Scott did with Gerard, but that didn’t exactly work, did it?”

She smiles sharply. “Yes, well, who helped him with _that_ plan, I wonder?”

“You think Deaton’s double-crossing us?”

“No,” she says, “but he didn’t mention the relationship between emissaries and hunters. Not one bit. And from what I can gather, Deaton was the emissary for the Hale pack. So what was he doing _here_ when the Hale alpha was gone for a number of years? And maybe I’m missing information, but I didn’t get the impression that he was much help to Derek when he became Alpha. I’m just saying, I’d rather consider the Argents’ bestiary a reliable source because at least I _know_ their bias.”

“They let you borrow their bestiary?”

Lydia gives him a look so dry it’s cracking around the edges. “Allison’s my best friend. I recently found out I’m some sort of death omen. Do you _really_ think she wouldn’t let me copy it onto my harddrive?” 

“Point taken,” he concedes. “What does _that_ say about mountain ash?”

“That the hunters don’t like to use it. It’s the tool of werewolf allies. It doesn’t work on humans anyway, so it’s not like it means much. But a few hunters have been known to use it. They like to have someone in each family who can, just in case.” 

“Who was that for the Argents?”

“Well, from what I understand, it’s usually someone of lower rank, but for the balance of power, they try to keep it out of the hands of the soldiers. It seems like they attempt to mimic the matriarchal structure of most werewolf packs, so, according to what Allison told me, that would mean a woman, probably. They like to have someone specialized, I think, someone who can get close to a pack fairly easily—”

“Kate,” he fills in. “The Argents had Kate.”

“ _Precisely_ ,” Lydia says. “And here’s the thing: Gerard was in control of the bestiary. He didn’t make it digital until recently, and before that, he made notes. In Latin, of course, but from what I can gather, as soon as he figured out that Chris would marry before Kate was of age, he started training her to be a perfect weapon.” 

“Weapons don’t make plans,” Stiles breathes, getting what she means. “Weapons don’t execute entire packs on their own. They need someone to aim them in the right direction.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe after we deal with Peter, we pay Gerard a little visit.”

Stiles frowns. “We have to be _very_ careful about this. My dad’s the sheriff. I can’t—”

“Peter’s legally dead and from what I hear, Gerard has black slime coming out of his orifices. _All_ of his orifices. I don’t really think they expect him to hold out much longer, do you?” Her look is bright and beautiful and terrifying. She’s something to be afraid of, in the broad sense, he realizes. A banshee is a woman who heralds death, but Lydia is a woman who begets it. She’s deciding who she’ll wail for, and the thing about Lydia is that if she decides she’s going to do something, there’s nothing that can stand in her way for long. He loves her, as he will always love her, in a way that’s part fear, part idolatry. But Lydia Martin is a religion that invites sacrifice. 

“I have a bad feeling about all of this,” Stiles tells her.

“But you’ll do it,” she confirms. “You’ll help me.”

“I’ll help you commit murder, yeah,” he says because someone needs to say it like it is.

She shrugs. “I like to think of it as a hair cut. Just trimming off a few split ends. I thought you might understand that on some level.”

It takes him a moment to get what she means, and when he does, he backs up, hitting the bed, shaking his head. “That’s not on the table. I’m not killing Rafa. He may be a fucking asshole, and I may not _like_ him, but I can’t do it. I just can’t.” His pulse punches his ear drums, and he’s not sure why, but the idea of hurting him, killing him, it freaks Stiles out. He want Rafa _gone_ , that’s all. Murder’s not on the menu. 

“I’m not going to _force_ you to kill anyone, Stiles. But if you change your mind, I’ll help you when the time comes.” 

“Can I just—” he takes a deep breath, releases it in a _whoosh_. “This is a lot to handle, okay? After everything recently, I’m just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I just need to think for a while.”

He drops onto the bed, not really sure what his head is doing right now because yeah, a part of him fucking wants to kill Rafa, wants to make it very, very slow, but the idea of actually _doing_ it is terrifying, and he’s not sure why. It’s not the repercussions because he’s not even thinking that far ahead, but he tries to imagine it, and he shudders, like his body is trying to reject the image. 

All he knows is that he _can’t do it_.

There’s an orange blur out of the corner of his eye. He’s not paying enough attention to catch it, but he spots the prescription bottle on the bed just behind him. Lydia’s got one eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t think…” he starts, staring at the bottle. “I used to take something else sometimes, back when I started getting panic attacks. It’s just that I don’t want to know. I’m afraid of what it’ll change if I know.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to remember. _Trust me_ , I’m not saying you should. I just think it might be a good idea to be able to think things through in a state where you don’t have to worry about not freaking out. When was the last time you were actually _calm_?”

“With Derek,” he tells her. “I can calm down with Derek.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, “I’m not trying to pressure you, I’m just giving you the option.”

Stiles picks out a single pill, gathering spit in his mouth, and throws it back. 

“You’re going to be okay,” she says. She squeezes his hand like she really means it. He hopes she does, but she doesn’t know. She can’t really know.

“Do you ever wonder, if there were no one else, that maybe we could work?” he asks because he’s been watching his excuses, his feelings for her, drifting away since the moment she kissed him. 

She shrugs. “That’s just not how it is,” she tells him. 

“I don’t really like how it is,” he confesses. “How it is kind of sucks. Everything just keeps getting worse. I’m tired of making things worse.” 

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He gives her a look. “Derek’s been arrested because of me,” he says. “Rafa knows he didn’t have anything to do with it, he just hates him. Because of me. And it’s stupid because Derek and I aren’t even a _thing_. Not really. Not yet. Honestly, I don’t know how he could even _want_ me, not after everything he knows I’ve done.”

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t _even_. Do you know who _I_ had when I was having trouble?” she asks. “I had Jackson fucking Whittemore. And do you know what he did? He yelled at me, he blamed me for all of his problems, and then he dumped me. Publicly. So you could definitely do worse.”

Well, when she puts it like _that_ ….

Derek’s _good_ to him. And Stiles might not be able to understand it, but he can fucking appreciate it. Derek’s fucking amazing to him, and it’s scary, really. It’s like Stiles is going to find his breaking point pretty soon, and he’s scared of losing Derek. He _needs_ Derek. That’s not safe, though. It’s not safe to need people. It’s dangerous because one day, Derek’s just not going to be there. Stiles needs to prepare for that inevitability. 

“Hey,” Lydia says, touching his forearm. “You’re okay here. You can do whatever you need. It’s okay.” 

“I’m fine.” He grinds the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, seeing splashes of color. “You’ve just caught me at a bad time. It’s been a hard couple of days.” His eyeballs make the weird little squeaking noise that used to entertain him for hours when he was a kid. “It’s just a _process_ , that’s all.”

He finds his drink from Sonic and gets to work on fighting the straw to turn his mouth purple. Lydia watches him carefully, like she’s measuring something, before relaxing and toeing off her shoes, falling back against the bed. She grabs a heart-shaped pillow and hugs it to her chest. 

“Come sit by me,” she tells him. 

With a little sigh, he kicks off his own shoes and climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. One of his socks has a hole at the tip of his big toe.

“So, tell me,” she says, turning over onto her side and curling up. “Have you and Derek kissed? I can’t figure out if he would be a good kisser or a terrible one.”

Stiles shrugs with one shoulder. “We haven’t. I mean, almost, once. Today, I guess. But he didn’t want to. I think he wants to have the whole ‘relationship’ discussion when he gets out of jail.” He makes the air-quotes, rolls his eyes at them, mostly because it sounds weird to him. He’s never had a proper relationship. Not really. Sure, Rafa’s a... _thing_. But Stiles doesn’t want to call that a relationship. It’s not even _close_. 

“I think he’ll be a good kisser for you,” Lydia tells him, making a decision about it. “He seems serious. That can be nice.”

“I’ll let you know.” He gives her a wry smile. “There _has_ been some, _ahem_ , touching. I wouldn’t quite say groping. But I’ve been both big and little spoon, and let me tell you, he doesn’t have a _little spoon_.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Have you actually _seen_ his dick, or are you just estimating?”

“I haven’t seen it, but honestly, I don’t even care,” he says. “I don’t want to date his penis. I want to date his heart.”

She gives him a look.

“Shut up, I _know_ , but you don’t even know the half of it. He’s done so much for me, and it’s not even that. I liked him before all of this. I just like _him_. It’s like, when I think about him, I can see us just sitting on the couch together. Or fighting over it or something. I can just picture _us_ , being _happy_ , and it feels right. We’d balance each other out. I mean, you and me, I would’ve been falling over myself to make everything perfect for you, but with him, it would just be _right_ , you know?” 

“You... _you know_ , don’t you?”

Stiles takes a long sip of his drink, weighing it. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell. I guess I’ll have to figure it out.” 

He twists his head from shoulder to shoulder, popping his neck, and leans all the way over to set his drink down on the floor. Once he knows it won’t spill, he stretches out across Lydia’s bed and groans.

“Good God, woman, do you sleep on _clouds_? What _is_ this madness?”

“That’s what four inches of memory foam feels like, sweetheart,” she tells him. She reaches behind him and grabs a fluffy round pillow and shoves it at him. “Here. Feel this.” He squishes it against his chest and _wow_. 

“Why do girls get to have throw pillows and memory foam? I feel so left out.”

She prods at him with a pedicured foot. “It’s not a _girl_ thing. I just like to be comfortable. It’s nice. Anyway. I’m going to put on some music and you can tell me when you feel like talking.”

She puts on something creamy and dark like good chocolate, and he holds the pillow to his chest and holds himself open to sleep if it’ll come. 

It doesn’t, not in a complete way. He ends up weaving in and out of partial dream shapes and the room. A couple times, he thinks Lydia’s standing over him or shaking him, but when he jerks himself awake, she’s just laying there, beautiful, with her eyes closed, and he sinks down again into different versions of this room, of reality. It’s been a while since he dreamed like this, like he was awake, and it’s disconcerting. 

But he’s fine, it’s not too much, not until the lightbulbs overhead spread bright across the ceiling and swallow him, and then he’s awake. He’s just awake. 

Lydia looks like she’s napping or something, and he watches her for a moment. 

He hasn’t felt like this in a while, not without Derek with him. Like he’s been swaddled in a good feeling, like he could just lay here forever.

When he moves his hand, it looks a little further away than normal, but that’s no big deal. It just happens sometimes. Lydia’s arm is a little soft under his hand, not quite squishy, but there’s a layer of squish. Squishy squish.

“Any reason why you’re playing with my arm?” she asks, opening her eyes. 

“No, sorry,” he tells her, pulling away. “I love your bed. It’s just a really great place to be right now.”

She smiles, all liquidy pink, and he wonders if her mouth every feels sticky. “You’re in a pretty good place right now, aren’t you?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he breathes, wiggling his shoulders deeper into the bed. It accepts him, cuddles his back. “I think your bed has a crush on me.”

“What gave it away?” she asks.

“It’s just so _cuddly_. Derek’s cuddly, too, though. Did you know that Scott says he has a crush on me? Well, he thinks he’s my boyfriend, but he thinks Derek likes me. I think he might, too, but it’s weird.”

“Why is it weird?”

He shrugs. “He’s seen me naked. He’s seen me fucking. Someone else, too. And he won’t even get naked in front of me on purpose. He won’t kiss me, either, and there’s been a couple times when I would’ve liked it. But I think he’s, like, trying to be a _gentleman_ or something. It’s weird. He’s weird. But I’m weird, too, so maybe it works.”

“He’s seen you fucking someone else?” her voice is kind of soft and scrapey. It’s nice. 

“Yeah,” he says. “What day is it? Sunday? Yesterday. Well, he didn’t _see_ , but he heard, and that’s enough. And I was naked after, and he cleaned me up and took care of me. He’s really nice. I know you wouldn’t think that, but he is. So much nicer. I don’t even like to think of them in the same sentence, you know? It feels weird.” 

“Do you want to talk about him? Scott’s dad, I mean?”

Stiles makes a face. “ _No_. Never. He’s _gross_. I didn’t think he used to be, but he _is_. And he’s not very nice. He said some mean things about Derek. And me, too. Kind of. He says things that I think are s’posed to be nice but they make me feel gross. Always has.” 

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to touch his dick anymore, you know?” Stiles asks. “I just don’t want to do that. I don’t want him to feel good. Well, okay, I never _really_ did, but _I_ don’t feel good when he touches me anymore so I just want to not do that anymore.”

“Then don’t.” 

She makes it sound so _simple_.

“I can’t just _not_ ,” Stiles tells her. “I mean, I can try, but I don’t think he likes that. I tried to do it last night, but…” 

He thinks about it, really thinks about it, tries to go back to what he can last remember. He’d wanted to _leave_ , he knows that, but he’s afraid. There’s stuff there that he doesn’t want to know. Except he’s pretty sure he knows. There’s too much time and he’s not _stupid_ , he knows Rafa’s stronger than him. In the ways that count, at least. And he’s got this blurry feeling that he thinks is probably better off as a blur. 

“I don’t want to know what happened. I don’t want to have to deal with it. I have enough to deal with.”

“So you want to keep doing what you’re doing?” she asks.

“No, no,” he says. “I can’t. I just don’t know how to make him let me stop.”

“You could try intimidation. I’ve heard it’s pretty effective,” she says, rolling over onto her stomach.

“How do I intimidate _him_?” Stiles asks. “He’s seen me doing all sorts of things. I’ve done a lot of things that he wouldn’t find very intimidating.” He laughs at that, the understatement. He’s pretty sure once you beg for someone’s dick, you lose the ability to intimidate them.

“Stiles, how many werewolves do you know? Have you ever _seen_ the Argents’ arsenal? You can intimidate him if you want to. You have that power, you just have to choose to take it.”

He turns over onto his side, looks for something like a lie. “Do you really think so?” She rolls her eyes, nods. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. I want to see him scared.”

“And you can. I’ll help you. And you can help me.”

“That’s a good system,” he says. “I hate Peter anyway. He’s not safe.” 

“He’s not safe for anyone,” Lydia agrees. “Which is why I’m going to get rid of him. To protect everyone. So he can’t use anyone ever again.”

Stiles nods. “I like that.” He smiles, then finds himself getting a great idea. “You know what? We should use _him_. Before you kill him, we could use him to get Rafa, and then he would think we don’t even think he’s important enough to kill just because.” 

“How are we going to use him to get McCall?” she asks, frowning.

“I told him it was Peter,” Stiles says. “Because he wanted to arrest Derek. So I told him it was Peter, and he _believed_ it, I swear. That’s why I know he hates Derek. Because he knows Derek didn’t do it. He didn’t do anything. And he’d want to get Peter, too, if he thought I was with him. I made him think Peter had a weird boner for me.”

“I can work with that,” Lydia says quietly, sitting up. Her face is all pulled in.

“You’ve got your thinking face on.”

She smiles, shakes her head. “No, this is going to work. Why don’t you take a nap, alright? I’ve got some work to do.”

“Will you wake me up so I can go home for dinner? My dad’s going to worry if I’m not there. We’ve got school tomorrow, too. Don’t we have a quiz or something?” 

“I know. Just go to sleep. I’ll wake you up, okay?” He nods, and she ducks down to peck his cheek, and she’s gone. But her bed isn’t. He rolls over, buries himself in it, and it’s not long before he’s out.

**Author's Note:**

> there's more! like, definitely three more parts! maybe not more than that, though. we shall see.  
> also for those of u who don't know and wish to hang, my tumblr is majestic-beard.


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